Back To U

chapter Ten

Check the color to make sure it’s ready.





Max woke up and rubbed his nose, turning his head on the pillow to avoid whatever tickled his face. In an instant he remembered where he was. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Gwen’s bow inches from his mouth and her head, above his, nestled on his pillow. His face rested in the curve of her neck. Her breasts, not that he was looking, but he absolutely couldn’t miss them, were straight down from his chin and nicely straight up. She was kidding herself about the modesty at the pool. She could walk the pool deck naked from what he could see, and if he tipped his head a little bit lower he could see all that too. But he wouldn’t. He’d just stay right where he was. It was rude to wake up a sleeping person. He’d already gotten her up once at eleven-fifty. He wasn’t going to do that again.

He felt the weight on his waist and pulled up the sheet just enough to see Gwen’s leg across his middle. A bit further, and she’d wake up with his erection against her thigh. Shit. What was he thinking even thinking about her thigh and his… he closed his eyes, but he could smell her skin more then. Warm, if warm had a smell, and just lovely. Gwen hadn’t been his first at eighteen. She certainly hadn’t been his last. But no woman had smelled quite like Gwen, soft and inviting.

He shifted just enough that her thigh rode a little lower on his body. The priest he’d called to in the mirror last night surely wouldn’t approve, but he was only human, and he was definitely a human who hadn’t given up women. Who could? Not when they were all curves and promise and… he nuzzled his face against her neck. She made a humming sound in her throat that almost undid him. If she sighed, at all, even a little, he was going to have her flat on her back and talk her into doing every good thing he’d ever in his life done to her, with her, and for her.

Instead she opened her eyes and screamed.

He felt her nails dig into his chest the second before recognition dawned in her eyes.

He put one hand to the broken skin and with the other, pulled the sheet up in case she hoped to damage his lower half as well.

"Max, I’m…" She sat up, her cardigan falling off her shoulder in that painfully sexy way women didn’t even understand. Thank god. Give them any more power, and they’d rule the planet of the apes.

She reached out, pulled his hand away from his chest, and the red welts there shocked her fully awake. She had to stop herself from tracing them in apology. And at the same time, she was impressed that she could so handily defend herself. Maybe she had more strength than she'd imagined. She'd kept the wolf at bay, hadn't she? The least she could do was bring him a wet washcloth. She headed into the bathroom and came out to see Max sitting up in bed wearing the air of the injured party in a lawsuit.

She handed him the washcloth, and he looked even more miffed that she wasn't going to administer it personally. As if he could be trusted. She pulled her cardigan closer and considered that she should have checked out her morning look in the mirror, but it felt oddly comfortable with Max, as if having him see her without make-up at thirty-nine was the same as it had been at eighteen. God knew he was just as willing to make a pass at thirty-nine as he'd been at eighteen.

He sniffed.

"Honestly." She put her hands on her hips, didn’t notice her sweater slide off a shoulder. "You make a move over to my side of the bed when I'm sleeping and, frankly, you have to deal with the consequences."

"Your side of the bed?"

"You know, I understand. You came in here late. You gave it a shot. I don't blame you."

He looked more like an outraged child than a wolf. "I did not give anything a shot."

"It's okay." She was glad he didn’t wear his boyish ways often. They always got her.

"If I had given it a..." he dropped the washcloth to make irritated air quotes, "Shot. You would be looking up from the mattress, sister, and thanking me."

She sucked in air. "I would not--"

He pointed to the pillow propping him up. "I woke up on my pillow, and you were also on my pillow with your sweater all off your shoulder," he pointed with energy, "Like that."

She jerked it up.

"Uh-huh. And you were sighing and your breasts were right under my chin, right up there, practically cutting off my windpipe."

"My breasts were up there?"

"And the sighing just asked me to wake up and do something about it. But I am a gentleman."

"Since when are you a gentleman?"

"Always. I am nearly always a gentleman, but you were being very inappropriate."

"I was not."

He pulled the sheet over to point to the side of his hip. "Your thigh was right here. You slid it across me when I was sleeping, innocently sleeping. You took a kind of advantage of me that I have no words for."

"I did not."

"Exactly what position do you think you woke up in when you screamed, like anyone believed that, and scratched me to make it appear I had lost control?"

"I know exactly how I woke up." She stomped around to her side of the bed and crawled in. Putting the sheet tidily up to her chin, she lay flat on her back, eyes closed.

"You couldn't even reach my chest from there."

She reached her left arm across her body and thunked him in the chest.

"Do you watch no crime shows? Really, you have no clue at all, do you?"

"I just proved my innocence."

"My DNA is under the fingernails of your right hand, defendant."

She considered the motion of her hand when she'd attacked, ran the motion through a couple of times in her head. It had been her right hand.

"Now reach over and get me with the right hand."

She tried to twist her hand to the right, but, claw-like, the nearest thing she could scratch was the side of his left thigh, and she did.

"Ow!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her over, sliding lower into the bed, his head where it had been when he'd woken up, aligned with her bow. He drew her leg over his side. "There. Now I have completely proven my innocence."

She didn't move. He was breathing down her nightgown, her thigh was across his body, and they were plastered together like, well, like lovers. It was exactly how she'd come to. Damn. She hated that she’d been the one to make the move. Even in her sleep, he was right about her. She still did have some self-control issues when it came to him, and she really hated having to apologize to someone so smug. She let out a long suffering breath. "I'm sorry I screamed and scratched you."

He grinned. "Consider it pre-emptive."

"Pre-emptive?" She felt him bite the silky string of her nightgown and pull with his teeth until her bow came undone. She stopped breathing when she saw her breast was exposed, and he held the ribbon in his teeth, grinning around it. Then he dropped the ribbon and lowered his head to the center of her throat. His nose was warm at the hollow there, and she felt him breathe in and let herself touch his hair to feel the morning warmth of him.

He kissed her on each point of her collarbone, then moved again to the center of her throat and lick the pulse there.

She tilted her head back, her breasts rising to meet him as he kissed the inner swell of one and then the other. She had both hands in his hair, her nipples hard and throbbing. She heard her own sigh catch as his tongue moved toward--

At the knock she jerked and pulled his hair.

His head shot back. "Hey," he rubbed where she might have dislodged some hair, "Control yourself. I’ll get to every inch of you. Patience."

She rolled her eyes and pulled her cardigan across her body. "This isn't about sex."

"This is completely about sex, and I am being injured."

The doorknob turned, and she leaped out of bed and ran for the door to put her back against it. She waved at him and whispered, "Hide."

But he sat up in bed and kept his hand on his scalp. "I'm not hiding."

"Yes, you are."

"Am not."

She gave him her disapproving parent face. "Max."

He grinned. "I fight authority."

She knew that song. And damned if she didn't know that face. Max could be as stubborn as anyone she knew. The doorknob turned again, and she fought the impulse to panic. Annie was going to come in and see Max half-naked in her bed. She tried not to let him see her desperation. "Authority always wins, remember?"

"Not this time."

"I don't think that Annie--" the door pushed at her back. "Uh, Annie? The door's stuck. Just a second. Suitcase. In front of it." She whispered to Max. "What do you want?"

He fluffed both pillows and leaned back against the headboard, his hands clasped over his sheet clad lap. "I think that's evident." He looked toward his lap. "Or was before you yanked my hair out."

"Just hide and we'll discuss it later." She pushed harder against the door. "Just give me a minute, Annie. It’s really stuck." She watched Max, waited.

He smoothed an imaginary wrinkle out of the sheet. "Negotiating," he sounded just like her psych. professor, "Should be done from a position of strength. And women will always possess more than men do. I am at a significant disadvantage unless I get you over the proverbial barrel." He gave a fake shiver. "Ooh, can I get you over a barrel?"

She pointed to the bed skirt. "Under."

He leaned over the bed. "I could work under there. I mean, I'm good, but there would be a limit to my maneuverability in a space that tight."

"Hide under there, and I will... cook for you."

He waved her contribution away. "Never trust a woman who says she can cook."

Well, that was ridiculous. Who didn’t want someone to cook for them? She jiggled the doorknob so Annie would at least think she was working on the problem. "What do you… besides sex, want?"

He looked at the ceiling, seeming to consider a long list of possibilities. "Nothing."

"That's horrible."

"Only if you do it wrong."

Annie's voice came through the door. "Should I come back later?"

"Yes!" Max yelled.

Gwen tried to match his deep voice, "No!" She cleared her throat. Damn. That was the wrong answer. She glared at him. He really brought out the worst in her, and she lost her head, her control, her ability to reason.

The door popped open a couple of inches, and she slammed it closed again. "Dang, Annie, it is really stuck. Just a second, I think I've got it." She turned to Max. "Get under the bed and I will..."

"Come to my house, and eat my cooking."

She grimaced.

"I'm better."

"Twenty years is not that long."

"If you're going to be mean, I'm not getting under the bed."

She forced a smile. "Come on in, Annie." And he shot under the bed as she swung the door open.

Annie stood wide-eyed, and Gwen rolled her eyes at the doorknob. "Crazy door. What was up with that?"

Annie shrugged, remaining confused in the hallway.

"Come on in." Gwen tugged her sleeve and brought her into the room. "Everything's just fine here. How are you?"

Annie took Gwen's hands. "I'm so sorry. I hope you weren't worried about me."

"No. No, of course not."

"But you didn't know where I was. I meant to run over to the room to let you know, but Guy and I just watched the moon in the window and then the sun came up. It was amazing."

"I knew where you..."

"How?"

"I knew you were fine. That's what I knew." She brought the girl in, steered her away from the bed and encouraged her to sit in a chair with a little push. "So, moon watching, sun rising. That's lovely." She watched Annie's face. "Romantic..."

Annie breathed out in a gush of emotion. "It was."

"Just romantic. Because romance is great. Just romantic is just great. No, um, well, good for you." Gwen grabbed a glass of water from the bed stand and checked to make sure all of Max was under it. He was, but she gave a little kick his direction anyway.

Annie blushed a light pink. "We didn't have sex."

Gwen choked on the drink of water, recovered with a raspy voice. "That's also just great."

"We didn't even talk."

"Well, there's the language barrier."

"We didn't need to talk. It was beyond language, beyond bodies."

"Wow. I wish more males felt like that. Wouldn't that be a good world? Imagine. A man who didn't think with his, hey!" Gwen almost lost her balance when Max closed his hand around her ankle.

Annie’s forehead wrinkled in concentration. "I thought guys thought with their dicks. What's a hey?"

"A hey?" Gwen tried to pull her foot away, but Max didn't loosen his grip. "It actually stands for something. You know, a guy thinks with his H.E.Y."

"Oh." Annie made a couple of motions with her thumbs as if practice texting. "Nope. I don't know that one."

"I.D.K." Gwen tried to smile, bounced once on the bed. She hoped the box springs got low enough to nail him between the eyes.

"Yeah," Annie shook her head, "I don't know what H.E.Y. stands for."

"A man thinks with his head. That can be the big one or the little one, depending on the guy." She felt Max run a finger along her instep. "Ha!" She pointed at Annie. "That's a good one, huh?"

She crushed her free heel down on his hand, and though her ankle remained captive, he only had one hand to work with. "But it's true, the head thing. And I want you to remember that. They are driven to really primitive thinking." She tapped the back of her head. "Brain stem only. Reptilian logic."

"You are taking psych…" Annie looked lost at sea, but seemed willing to try to follow Gwen’s thought process. God bless the girl.

"Yes I am. And they're not ready. Boys, most men, they’re not ready for any consequences." Gwen felt Max let go. Free, she moved to the end of the bed and faced Annie. "Just be careful, Annie, no matter what happens. We know. Women know, on some level, from the time we're little girls that we have certain responsibilities in the world whether we want them or not. I think that's why we mature quicker. At eighteen Guy is still very young, younger than you are. He's not ready to handle much. You may not be either, but you're a little bit more ready. So, make sure you don't get into a situation that will change things for, maybe, ever."

"Okay."

Gwen felt herself tear up and mentally pulled herself together. "So, breakfast?" She crossed to the chair and tugged on Annie's arm to get her up. "It's breakfast time. We've got that going for us." She steered her toward the door, opened it. "You go get us a table, a big one for everybody. I'm gonna shower, and I'll be right there."

She started to close the door on Annie, who stood dazed in the hallway. "Don't even try the door." She rolled her eyes at the knob again. "It's crazy."

Annie stopped the door with her hand. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"What does the rest of H.E.Y. stand for?"

"Oh, after thinking with their heads? They think with their eyes. Men are very visual. I learned that one in psych. Long hair, cleavage. Red, which is a variation of pink. You don't even want to know why that does it for them."

"I do."

"It involves monkey rear ends. I mean, really, it makes you never want to wear the color again. Can they evolve?"

"And the Y?"

"They think, sometimes… rarely, but sometimes, they think with you in mind. And that is a good day."

"That's Guy."

"I hope you're right, Annie. They are a rare breed." She gave a little wave and closed the door.

Max slid out from under the bed. He stood, and for the first time it really struck her that he was in nothing but boxers, she was in a summer nightgown and lacy sweater, and a few minutes before she'd been a sneeze away from having her breast in his mouth.

"That red thing isn't true, is it?"

"Afraid so."

"But not pink?"

"A variation on the same primate theme." Her life had been a variation on the same primate theme. Max. Steve. Max in her bed again, even if accidentally and briefly. She'd given Annie good advice she needed to be smart enough to take herself. Her life from that moment forward would be monkey-business free.

"Hmmm." Max wore the face he reserved for high level math and world cup soccer matches. "I'm okay with that."

"Good. You can wear your own pink panties."

"Be funny. Be as funny as you want. I’m feeding you tomorrow night, and you do not want your food service worker to be irritated."

"Even if your skill in the kitchen has improved by one-hundred percent, spit could only help."

"Now that's just hurtful. True and hurtful." He made his way to the door. "Check the hall. I'm gonna make a run for it."

Gwen eyed his underwear.

"Okay, I can give you a quickie but then I have to go."

She rolled her eyes, the same expression she'd used on the crazy doorknob, and headed into the bathroom. From the other side of the door, she could hear him knocking around. Getting dressed, she hoped, but still talking.

"Okay, you'll take a rain check on the quickie. I understand. I'm leaving now."

She saw her reflection in the mirror. Smiling. She made herself stop and turn to the shower.

"If you change your mind before I hit the door, just come on out in your pink panties. That'll be the sign."

She turned on the faucet, spun it to start the shower, but instead of getting in, stood near the door to better hear him.

"I'm not seeing a sign at all. I'm hearing the shower start. And still talking to myself. Because that is what you do to me, Gwen. That is what you damn well can do to me."





The waitress set a bowl of homemade granola down in front of her. Judy's Granola. She'd ordered it off the menu with the faith that cereal that had a name had to be good. She admired the dried cherries studded in among the golden toasted oats and shredded coconut. As funky as the Curtis was, it had retained some of its hippy day’s charm. And there was nothing better that had come out of that culinary time than granola. Of course, it had been around a long time before that just not readily available on American tables like responsible moms had invented it.

The boys were without female extras at the table, which told her they'd gotten considerably less lucky than they'd wanted to. They were carbo loading with pancakes, protein packing with eggs, and munching on a couple of pigs with a rash of bacon. H.E.Y. may stand for hedonistic eating youngsters.

Max had eggs, wheat toast, and a fruit bowl, not so light that the boys would have to mock his manhood, not so heavy she'd have to question his cholesterol levels.

Guy and Annie sat thigh to thigh, and it did have an innocent quality, like old-time courting side by side on the wagon. Then Guy surprised them all, turned to Annie, and with great expression and a guttural delivery said, "Heva en vakka morgen."

Annie smiled and put her hand over his, stilling his pancake progress for the moment.

Gwen felt the attention of a silver-haired woman at the next table, who stared with curiosity at Guy, and Gwen caught her eye. "Good morning."

"Good morning," the woman smiled then scooted her chair back and came over to the table to stand in front of him. "Was that Norwegian, young man?"

Gwen thought Guy responded to the word Norwegian and seemed taken with the woman’s vest, blooming with red and blue embroidered flowers.

Max leaned close to Gwen. "Guy, Norwegian?"

She had to admit it was an impossibility, but Guy spoke to the waiting woman anyway, which just showed what a nice boy he was. "Snacker, fyr, snackerdu Norwegian, fyr?"

Everyone waited for her to respond. They’d all heard Norwegian. Was it possible the Guy mystery had been solved?

The woman’s forehead dented in concentration. She turned from a smiling Guy to Gwen. "My grandmother was from Norway. I’ve visited a couple of times. My aunts and uncles and some nieces and great nephews are still there. But I don’t know what he’s saying. Except Norwegian. And maybe…"

Guy, even more excited, spoke in clipped tones from the back of his throat. "Fyr! jeger enhelt free Norge, fyr."

The woman shook her head at Guy. "I’m sorry. I just don’t know." She smiled an apology at Gwen. "I’m only catching Norway. There’s an accent that’s unusual."

Max whispered in Gwen’s ear, "Because he’s not from Norway?"

Gwen nodded to the woman. "Well, thank you."

Guy waved at her as she left and happily went back to his breakfast and gazing at Annie.

Jason shook his head. "Dude, I thought we’d figured Guy out for a second there."

"Fyr," Guy added.

"Fyr, gratis fugel," Max put his hands above his head, pinky and thumb out like he was rocking out at a concert.

Guy laughed and mimicked the motion, "Fyr, gratis fugel."

Max nodded. "Yep, Guy’s from the seventies."





They’d made it home with another round of Freebird, Sweet Home Alabama, and some KISS, although nobody knew why KISS. But even the KISS had been worth it to take her mind off the details of her life. She’d admit full loser status when she walked into the kitchen the next morning to turn in her chef's coat. Deb may be in denial, but Gwen knew her hobby wasn’t enough to justify anything past the semester. She wasn’t cut out to be in a professional kitchen. She’d finish psych. and go back to her own kitchen and hope she could straighten out her life, maybe get a job, although her unemployment felt bone deep.

She’d been laid off from her whole life, and she considered it was kind of what had happened to the tailbone. A man didn’t need one anymore and still there it was. She was a tonsil, an appendix. She was the encyclopedia entry for evolution. That didn’t sound bad. Maybe she'd just evolved and was really ahead of herself and not a wreck at all.

She considered the stages of Missy’s childhood and the stages of her marriage. Missy had grown up to leave her, sing in a bar, and never call. Steve had skipped the growing old part with her to grow young again with a new woman. Had she evolved? No, she’d been turfed because she hadn’t.

Putting her key in her dorm door, she noticed in the dim of the hall, a sticky note. In very light pencil it said TV room. She wondered if it was from Annie, the writing almost too fine to read. She opened her door, chucked her bag onto the bed, and headed to the lounge.

Her daughter slept on the sectional couch, all curled up in the corner. Missy's chestnut hair, the dark of Steve’s with Gwen’s own red in there, swept across the side of her face. She looked closer to thirteen than eighteen, all relaxed in sleep, and Gwen sat across from her, careful not to jostle the couch cushions too much.

She watched her daughter sleep, and wanted to keep on watching her and, at the same time, wake her up to be assured that nothing was wrong. Of course something was wrong. Missy wouldn’t be there if everything was great. She’d be just as gone as she’d been. Gone and not even calling. For the first time, she felt a flash of anger. Missy worried her gone, and now worried her there and, just like a child, slept cluelessly through it all.

Missy would wake up, and Gwen would spring into action. She knew exactly what the tailbone would do given the chance to be useful. It would go back to being a tailbone. But being a tailbone hadn’t gotten her anywhere. It might not even have been best for Missy. Or Steve. She should have been more independent, less of a caretaker. Although she couldn’t help but think that if she’d evolved, it could have hastened the divorce papers and caused Missy to do exactly what she’d done anyway.

Missy stirred, opened her eyes.

Gwen smiled, and Missy burst into tears.